


Spanish Twilight

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hour was late, and the wind was high.  The half-moon hung distantly in the sky.  The summer air slapped him in the face and all the while, he was still aware of the Spaniard muggle laying in the bed behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spanish Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

TITLE: Spanish Twilight

AUTHOR: Maple Tide

E-MAIL: mapletide@fastmail.fm

DISLCAIMER: The characters in this piece of fiction are the property of J. K. Rowling, and the associated publishers (including Scholastic Press, Bloomsburg, and Raincoast) she uses. I'm not seeking to make any money off of this; rather I'm doing it for fun and for the chance to get it out of my own imagination before it drives me even more insane.

RATING: R

CATEGORY: Angst. Remus/Sirius post-slash. Remus/other. Well, sorta

KEYWORDS: Remus, bullfighter, slash, angst

ARCHIVE: my website, Snitchfiction.net, The Dark Arts, maybe FD.net. Anybody else who wants it, just let me know ;-)

FEEDBACK: Please? I can be reached at mapletide@fastmail.fm

SUMMARY: The hour was late, and the wind was high. The half-moon hung distantly in the sky. The summer air slapped him in the face and all the while, he was still aware of the Spaniard muggle laying in the bed behind him.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is something of a companion story to "Short a Penny", which I wrote a while ago. It takes place about six months or so before that story was written, I think, but it's still there. It's been begging and screaming to be written for quite some time, and it really did take a nudge from Ballyharnon to get me to actually write this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hour was late, and the wind was high. The half-moon hung distantly in the sky. The summer air slapped him in the face and all the while, he was still aware of the Spaniard muggle laying in the bed behind him. Remus turned a glance behind him, and shivered a bit, despite the warmth of the night.

After Sirius had betrayed them all, after they had found him in the midst of that street with the murdered muggles - and Peter, his mind nudged at him, don't forget about Peter, who never hurt anybody a day in his life, who was strong in his own way, even if it wasn't a way they really recognised at the time. After even they sentenced him to Azkaban for those crimes, and some they didn't actually recognise, but everyone who mattered knew.

Like he knew.

He closed his eyes and tightened his grasp around the unforgiving steel of the railing. It had been two years since then. Two years. Sometimes it felt hard to believe, and he existed in a meaningless fog of not-existing, only truly living when the knife sliced into his arm in his pre-transformation ritual. That was one ritual he had never quite been able to leave behind, and it struck him as twisted that it was the only time he felt fully connected with the world.

It was tempting to indulge more often, but he wouldn't. He had that much control, anyway. Sometimes.

After he had received the news from Bella, and after Hagrid had returned Sirius' bike to their flat, Remus had gone out driving, trying to think and trying not to, all at the same time. He hurt from the loss of nearly everyone that had meant anything to him. James, Lily, and Peter were lost to the hand of his lover, who had been behind the force that killed them all. There was only Dariele and Hope left, out of all of them.

When he realised the drive hadn't worked, he had returned to his flat only to have it explode in his face, with a taunting message from the Death Eaters left behind, to taunt him.

It had been two years ago, and yet, it could have been yesterday for all it felt as though any time had passed at all. The wounds still hurt, still ached, and still had not had any chance to heal. Even after two years.

Remus closed his eyes. His scars itched, and a tingle ran upon his skin; it wasn't the first time that his own body had called for the caress of the knife, as Dariele had called it once, and it wouldn't be the last time. However, he could ignore it for now, and the impulse would pass. It always had before, and he had willpower enough to see it through for yet another night. Willpower was good for so many things, and this being the least among them.

He looked back over his shoulder at the other man once more and nodded to himself, making a decision that he knew from the beginning of the evening he would have to make.

In a fit of ardent self-pity, he had taken to one of the pubs that spoke a mingling of proper English and Spanish, sometimes even bastarded together into an indecipherable blur of sound that he only half-understood. It was there, after another shot of the scotch so many of the Muggles frequenting the place had taken to drinking, where he had first encountered the Muggle bullfighter.

Or... what did they call them here? The word matador drifted through his mind in answer to the question, and he let it go. It didn't matter, not really.

As he stood there, Remus realised what had drawn him to the man in the first place. It had begun when he had casually slung himself into the empty chair across from him at the small table. With a carefree grin and a flick of the wrist, he asked if he minded the company. With the slightest of headshakes, he had condemned himself to an evening with the man.

Somewhere in the midst of the evening, Remus found his name was Manuel, and discovered his occupation. He talked about it endlessly, the high, the rush he got from teasing and tempting beasts that could well kill him. A smirk crossed Remus' lips then, as he took another sip of the drink.

Perhaps, if he could tame those beasts, he could tame this one as well. I'd like to see him **try**.

At the thought, he took a glance across the table at the man there. The eyes were laughing, dancing, and careless of the danger he was getting himself into. The candlelight lent the skin an added smoothness, and his fingers itched to run his hands through his hair. He knew what else he'd do; tilt that head back, possess that mouth with his own, silencing it for a time. Maybe even replace the flow of words with moans of encouragement. He shifted, and finished the drink; all things considered, it wouldn't be an overly bad way to end the night.

After that, their conversation had intensified.

When pressed about what he did, where he was from, and various other personal questions, Remus gave a smile full of flippancy, a smile he had borrowed from Sirius himself, and gave answers that matched the expression. As for what he did, he was just a wanderer, trying to find a place where he fit. Manuel had grinned and suggested his own occupation, which provided plenty of chance for travel. Remus flashed him a grin to match his own, before replying that he valued his life too much to tempt wild beasts who would gladly kill him.

That earned him a laugh, and a flirtatious smile. Remus shook his head and found himself wondering whether there was something about him that attracted flirtatious young men to his side. He trained his eyes on that throat again, looking so tender and just right for biting... That contrast, between skin and hair and eyes, it wasn't as much as--

But he wasn't going to think about that.

With the most flippant smile he could manage, he invited him back to the room, and willingly, his new partner followed. There were kisses -- hard, rough, harsh, as they made their way back to the rooms. No tenderness at all entered the equation at all, and it was so different that it didn't take long before all thoughts, all comparisions had flown from his mind.

At that time, they had finally arrived at the room, and if Remus had been forced to tell what path they had taken, he would not have been able to. He stopped thinking about the time he had thrown the bullfighter -- Manuel, his name had been -- down on the bed. There was a seductive smile, a smirk, and an expression that begged him to take him.

With bites well delivered, with the tease of a mouth wrapped around his lover's cock, he did exactly that. He didn't think about the different taste, he didn't think at all as he stripped what remained of both of their clothes away, and used his own mouth, his tongue and the slickness of his own saliva to prepare his--

What was he, anyway? Fling? One night stand? Convenient fuck?

He decided upon the latter as he finally plunged inside.

They rode each other until there was nothing left, until there was nothing left but the release, but the screaming, but the darkness as he collapsed. There was nothing left but the screaming that echoed inside his skull, there was nothing left but the feeling that something was about to break.

That was the last thought he had before he lost consciousness.

~~~~~~

Back on the balcony, Remus Lupin closed his eyes and made the decision. It was definitely time time to leave Muggle Madrid. With a decisive nod, he turned and strode back into the room. He left a note on parchment for that one time lover, yet not, that lay still asleep on the bed. As he dropped the note in the blankets, he looked at the dark hair, bronze skin, and shook his head. Last night, in the dark, it had been so much easier to pretend that he was someone he wasn't. For, in the end, that's what it had come down to. Pretending.

How long would it take before he stopped seeing Sirius' face behind his eyes every time he sucked someone's cock down his throat, or licked at the tip teasingly or delivered a rimjob that left the other party moaning and grasping his hair as though it was some sort of lifeline? Looking deep within, he found the answer and didn't like it. Remus shook his head in disgust at himself, for still being so tightly bound to someone who had proved himself to be a lying bastard who betrayed everything they had fought so hard for over the years of their friendship.

He picked up the case, and twisted his lips into a smile of melancholy as he looked down at the plaque just below the handle, which hovered into sharp view the instant his fingers came in contact with the handle. Allabain R. J. Lupin. The word that hovered in front of his own name was a term that Sirius had used a lot, and upon asking once, had confided that it meant 'wanderer'.

Considering what he had been doing over the past couple of years, the description had been apt. It was even more so when it was taken into consideration that Sirius had gotten him the bag in the first place.

Long strides took him away from the lover that didn't wake even after he closed the door behind him. With a practiced ease, he took the lift down to the first floor, so that he could deliver the key to the villa to the woman with long, dark, curly hair who winked at him and flashed him a mischievous, yet flirtatious smile. He shook his head, his lips curving into a smirk of pure amusement, before turning and heading out.

When he reached the centre of the courtyard, Remus turned and looked up. Where he was standing provided an excellent view of the balcony he had previously been standing upon. He studied it for a long moment, wondering if indeed he was doing the right thing. After all, maybe he could make it work, if he truly accepted the truth of the matter.

But no, he wasn't ready, and probably wouldn't be for some time.

How many times would he have to make this decision before he could manage to make himself hold to it?

Swiftly, he swirled the midnight blue cloak around him and headed again out of the courtyard. He made his way to where the bike had been stored that night after they had arrived and had tumbled together against the rough wall. The memories ran through him, and did not inspire a wish for a repeat, as running over similiar memories often did. Instead, it left him with the desire to put as much distance between him and this place as possible.

Remus mounted the Moonshadow, and started it. However, as he kicked it into gear, a memory struck that left him standing with both feet on the ground for fear of it toppling over and crushing him beneath its weight. He might be strong, but he didn't think he was strong enough to take on Sirius' motorbike and win.

The memory included a fall of thick black hair falling across an angular, grinning, and all-too-familiar face. That face that brought a flash of pain, and the voice, even more so. That voice, tinged for a change with the accent that Sirius strove so hard to hide while they were at school, and managed it rather well. With the exception of rare moments -- long private moments where it would be just the two of them, when James was off with Lily and Peter off doing homework or getting into mischief on his own or courting Ariena -- where the accent would come out in full measure, and he would be the only one there to hear it.

That voice. Oh, that voice. Would he never erase its richness from his mind?

"Oi... you know, Remus Lupin, you are a heartbreaker. I can see it now. A string of broken hearts and shattered dreams left in your wake, accompanied with the highest of expectations that no other could live up to your greatness, your prowess, your oh-so-wonderful cock size. You'd tease them and string them along, leading them to believe that they would have you for a lifetime, then you'd slip out of their reach. Anyone who can't see beyond what happened to you to notice how much a treasure you are doesn't even deserve to be graced with your presence."

He growled and kicked off, taking the motorbike as far from the villa as he could get. He didn't know where he was going yet, but he had to outrun the pain, and put some distance between it and him so he could force it into patterns that would make sense. However, in that night, in that spanish twilight, he threw his head back and growled to the sky.

"Damn you, Sirius Black. Damn you!"

Then, even as he drove swifter away, the wind brought rise to a rainstorm that rose in intensity until there was nothing but wind lashing his face with pins and needles, numbing him to the sudden pain that rose up. Even while he couldn't see, even while he couldn't think, still he drove. Still he put more and more distance between what was, and what could have been.

For now, it's what he had to do. For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~End~


End file.
